The Chaperone
by lhoorah
Summary: No way was he staying home that weekend while Casey partied with Truman--alone--into the wee hours of the morning. No way in London, Toronto, or Hell. AU ficlet of "Truman's Last Chance."


**Should I be doing something productive? Yes. Am I writing a random, spur of the moment ficlet instead? Yup.**

**I finally got around to watching "Truman's Last Chance" (I actually sometimes prefer reading fic /idealizing Dasey in my head more than watching the show sometimes). And I was struck by two things:**

**1) Truman's a bigger an ass than I'd already guessed (hence some of the Truman bashing that follows)  
**

**2) Derek was so totally sweet / protective of Casey it literally blew me away.**

**I couldn't help but respond with fic, so sue me ;)**

**Anwho, let me know what you think.**

*******

"_I just saw Truman and Vicky. And they were…ki-ki-ki-"_

"_Kayaking?"_

"_Kissing."_

***

He was possessive.

Protective.

But, it wasn't something he liked to wear on his sleeve. So he showed it in ways that most non-psychics wouldn't notice.

Mostly by denying it repeatedly and loudly at all costs.

He beat up on Edwin a lot, because it was fun (and, yeah, also because the kid was scrawny and he needed to know how to protect himself).

He let Marti 'force' him into bedtime stories and tuck-ins and the like.

When Lizzie was late coming back from her lame middle school dates, he'd send her obnoxious text messages about dead animals and pollution until she got mad enough to come home and scream at him.

And, Casey…

Well, she was his.

It wasn't romantic (_guh_, just having the word in the same sentence as him made him ill). It was just one of those things that happened when people spent the majority of their time arguing, fighting, insulting, scheming on, spying on, (slowly, agonizingly, under the radar sort of growing on) each other. Shit happens.

He wasn't one to make a big deal out of these sort of things.

She was still his stepsister.

She still got on his first, middle, and last freaking nerves.

She was the epitome of a no-go.

But, if she needed anything, he'd give it to her. Painfully, subtly, and always, always with a catch--but it was hers.

(Example: No way he was staying at home that weekend to do chores--which he could have gotten out of without even trying--while Casey was with Truman--_alone_--into the wee hours of the morning. No way in London, Toronto, or Hell.)

And, if anyone messed with her (which only he was allowed to do, and honestly? A lot of times he protected her from himself), he tended to overreact like most overprotective people do.

So, when Casey came up to him, crying (and, no, not that fake, please pay attention to me whine, but that real, _shit,_ _Derek_, _I'm really, really hurt_ whine) all because Truman frenched Vicky…

There were just no words.

Just mostly violence.

Growling, "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" as he slammed Truman up against the nearest wall was the next thing he clearly remembered.

Rationally, he realized there must have been words leading up to that, that his feet must have taken him into the next room. But that was fog to him. Casey's crying had set him off, and there really hadn't been much room for rationality after that.

"Woah, dude, calm down," Truman sputtered.

"Calm down?" Derek's jaw flexed, "_Calm down?_ How about I beat you down?"

"_Derek_!" he heard a female chorus cry behind him.

His eyes flickered to them--Vicky shocked and amused; and Casey shocked and something else-- before glaring back at Truman.

"You think you're a tough guy?" Derek hissed lowly. "You think you're 'The Man'? How freaking cool are you going to be when I kick your ass in front of all your friends?"

Truman's eyes flashed from stunned to steely and he pushed back a little, although Derek kept him pinned. "Why don't you stay the hell out my social life? For once."

"It's too late for that. Because you didn't stay the hell away from Casey, and then you broke her heart. Which is always my business. And _always_ pisses me off."

"Derek, stop it."

He felt Casey's hand on his arm, her fingernails digging in desperately, and he pried his eyes away from Truman. For a moment.

"Go outside," he whispered to her.

"What? No. Why?"

"Because I know you don't like violence, and I'm about to freaking kill him."

"Derek-"

"_Shit," _he hissed when Truman stomped on his shin.

He turned and Truman shoved into his back (like the total two-faced, wussy ass he was), making him stumble to the ground. He grimaced. Mostly from the pain, but also because that hadn't been as badass as he'd been planning.

"Truman!"

There was a crackling woosh, followed by a smacking sound, followed by a hiss, followed by silence. Derek's eyes popped. Casey had slapped the hell out of Truman.

"What the hell, Casey?" The douche-bag (i.e. Truman) cried.

"Don't you ever hit him again."

Derek climbed to his feet, and he could see her cheeks heat with anger. And probably more than a little embarrassment as well (they'd attracted quite a crowd).

Truman huffed. "You're shitting me right? He came after me first."

"That…that…" Derek quirked an eyebrow and watched her face take on that flustered, I-don't-have-an-answer-for-that-but-screw-you-look, before she sputtered, "That's not the point! You kissed Vicky."

"Woah, woah, slow it down, babe…"

Derek's jaw twitched and he mentally vowed to kick his ass if Truman called her 'babe' one more time.

"You're totally reading this wrong. It was just…it didn't mean anything. And, she kissed me first."

_Really? _Derek thought. That was his excuse? How exactly had he tricked Casey into dating him again?

"_Really, _Truman? Really? That's all you got right now?" Casey said, and for once since the dawning of time, he and Casey were on the same page. "You are such a pathetic creep."

Her voice was steely, scary enough to make any grown man squirm. But, Derek could see that soft, shiny vulnerability in her eyes. And, unlike he normally did when he saw that in a girl's eyes, he instinctively moved closer to her. Right behind her.

"I'm pathetic?" Truman asked.

Derek narrowed his eyes and he could see Truman shifting from fake, lameass apologetic to defensive. God forbid she question his rock star image in front of his friends, Derek thought bitterly.

"You're the one who practically followed me here, like a stalker or something."

Casey's breath hitched and Derek instantly stiffened.

"That is so not true," she said hollowly.

Truman sneered at her. "You keep telling yourself that. But, you and everyone else here knows that it is. That's sort of why, you know, I was, I don't know, _avoiding_ you."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the silence got harsher, louder. More than a few girls winched around the room, and even Vicky (of all people) was looking at Truman like he was the biggest asshole on earth.

Derek swallowed, watched Casey's shoulders quiver slightly from behind her, and felt this hot, growing, chocking tightness in his chest.

This was the part where he put his arm around her. Grabbed her coat and whispered in her ear that Truman was an idiot, that he didn't deserve her, that she was freaking gorgeous and brilliant and--

No, that wasn't his style.

And, actually violence wasn't his style either. Not even really on the ice.

But, when he raised his fist and slammed it into Truman's face, well that, (if only for this one moment in all eternity) was totally his style.

There were some more gasps, and then this sharp, unexpected sting of pain in his knuckles.

_Damn, _he thought, _Badass definitely looked easier in the movies._

He grimaced and reached for his aching hand as a group of people crowded towards Truman's crumpled form.

"_Oh, god, baby, are you okay_?" he heard Casey ask Truman in the background.

He rolled his eyes and grumbled before he could stop himself, "How could you _still_ care about that idiot?"

"I don't care about that idiot," she heard him say suddenly right behind him. He squinted and turned to her scrunched up face. "I was talking about _this _idiot," she said, gesturing to him.

He stood, stunned for a moment as she turned him towards her, so she could see his fist. He was stiff and dumb as her warm hands blanketed his, inspecting it gingerly.

_Baby?_ She was definitely not allowed to call him that.

But, something about the way she'd said it, the way she'd ran straight to him, tugged at this…this knotted part of his gut that he usually didn't allow her to reach. "S'okay," he said blankly.

"That was so stupid," she said.

The soft pads of her fingers were crawling his fist, her lips were parted, and her eyes were deep with…something not angry. She was the queen of mixed signals.

But, then again, he still hadn't whispered in her ear, or told her how freaking gorgeous she looked, so maybe he wasn't exactly Mr. Upfront either.

***

His right hand still kind of hurt, but there was no way was he letting her drive him and Vicky back home like he was a three year-old. He already felt like enough of an idiot, having let Truman toss him to the ground, having let her basically defend him, and then pouting over his hand like he was a badminton player, and not a hockey captain. He'd keep this last dignity.

Plus, Casey was still a little emotional. She was sniffling into his leather coat (and no, he couldn't quite remember how things had gone down so she'd ended up wearing it), and staring out the window.

He dropped Vicky off at her house first, and then had to watch in annoyance as they did their broken-record "We hate each other, but we're still cousins" routine. Thankfully, this only lasted for a few minutes before Casey made her way back to the car.

The door closed gently behind her, and then it was just him and her in the front seat.

She sniffled again and he tried to think of something kind to say.

"He's an ass."

She snorted slightly, like he was hilarious, and wiped at her cheeks. "You suck at this."

He shrugged, because there was no denying that; and she let out one last soft laugh before it was quiet again.

His hand was on the gear shift,, but he didn't move it.

"Why were you with him?" something besides his brain asked.

She sighed and titled her head away from him. "What kind of question is that? Can we just go home?"

"You deserve better," he said firmly. Then he winched, because, damnit, when had he become an after school special? But, he kept on. "You could do so much freaking better."

"Ha," Casey let out a rueful chuckle and his chest pulled, "Yeah, right."

"I mean it."

"Derek, why are you-" She sighed and looked exasperated, "Why are we doing this? Just take me home."

He shifted the car into 'drive', and then right back to 'park'. Casey huffed.

"Derek-"

"You do realize that _he's _the loser here, right? Not you."

She gave a derisive laugh. "And, since when have I not been the 'loser' that you so often remind me that I am?

"Hey."

He grabbed for the leather over her shoulder, and she tugged away, like he was shocking her or something.

"Stop it," she hissed.

"Stop what?"

"I don't--you just--just…_whatever_ you're doing."

She folded her arms like a fence across her chest, and he tensed. "So it's' alright for Truman--the biggest ass ever--to touch you, but not me? _I'm _wrong for wanting to?"

_Yes, _he told himself, _You *really* are._

"Yes," Casey said, and they were on the same page for the second time ever, "You are."

He winched, like she'd dinged his face and not just his ego. But, she was wearing his damn coat, and her eyes were saying things she wouldn't admit with her mouth, so he called her bluff; went "all in."

"So, what does that make you?" he challenged.

"That makes me the one ending this, Derek." She leaned in and said, "Take. Me. Home."

He leaned in, too, so he could smell her perfume, see that shinny lips gloss he wanted on his mouth. "No."

Her eyes flickered with the same conflicted look she got when she was choosing between low fat yogurt and fudge, and he reached over and undid her seatbelt like an idiot--because this whole thing was an idiot move.

"Casey," he breathed reaching across her body, so his hand smoothed her shoulder. "I'm so sick and tired of-"

"So am I," she bit back, "But, this is beyond not ok."

"So what?" he asked her. (It was cherry lip gloss, he could tell) "You can be a rebel for him, but not for-"

"I would do almost anything for you. I _have_ done almost anything for you. But, this-"

"Casey," he rasped.

"Derek, I just…I don't…." she sighed and he sucked in her breath, moving his hands quickly so they could cradle her cheeks.

"Casey," he said again, "You are not some chick."

She exhaled and he could smell the cherry again, the perfume again, and his leather swallowing her up.

It had been about a year now since he-

They were going to be at college soon and he-

He-

"Just this one last thing for me," he whispered, "I won't ask for anything else."

He waited, squirming, because this was Casey and she over-analyzed things, and this had been a no-go since the beginning, but her body and her eyes had been telling him this was a yes for too to long stand, and she was going to make him beg, and he never begged and-- "_Please_."

He heard a click, felt his seatbelt slide off his chest. She leaned over him, an almost, halfway crawl, and stopped, her breath panting nervously against cheek.

"You are freaking gorgeous," he said before kissing her.

That surprised her and he liked that, liked the gasp against his lips as he pulled away, threaded his hand through her hair and then kissed her again. He tasted cherry, smelled leather. Felt her grab that knot in his gut and tug on it hard, like rope. Then those soft hands were in his hair, and those soft lips parting under his, and she was making him gasp, probably just because she could.

She panted as she pulled back. "Why couldn't you have just said that hours ago?"

"I don't know," he sighed breathily, "Why couldn't you have just dumped that asshole weeks ago?"

She didn't answer that. Just slipped her hand down under the seat for the lever. They jerked back. "This I'm doing only for you."

***


End file.
